30 Puckurt Drabbles: Alternate Universes
by Choice
Summary: The one collection with the fairytale mix-ups and the merbadasses, updated daily. We're all mad here!
1. The One with the Merbadass

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #01: _The One with the Merbadass_

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><p>One pleasant summer morning, a teenage boy waded out into the ocean until the gently rolling waves met the hem of his swimming trunks. He yelped at the cool water and struggled up the side of a protruding rock until he was perched at its highest point. The boulder was warm from the sun, a nice change from the chilly seawater.<p>

He hadn't been there for more than a couple minutes when something breached the surface a ways away. Kurt straightened, grinning from ear to ear at the sight as Puck swam towards him. The merman was at his side in no time, laughing as he yanked Kurt into the water by his feet.

Kurt yelped and flailed in Puck's arms, hitting the merman's bare chest. "Screw you, Puck," he hissed through chattering teeth. "You _know_I hate it when you do that."

"Oh, but I love how cute you look when you're all pissy like that." Puck replied, grinning when Kurt flushed. "Sorry. Here..." He hefted Kurt back onto the rock, watching with unconcealed amusement as the boy, shivering and soaked, crawled up the rock like a crab. While Kurt got situated, Puck let his head fin (which Kurt had dubbed his 'mohawk' when they had first met) retract and sprawled out on a cluster of rocks surrounding Kurt's perch.

"So tell me more about your band," Puck insisted once Kurt was comfortable.

"It's a high school show choir," Kurt corrected with a smile. "And I'm getting tired telling you about how annoying our lead female singer is or what wardrobe malfunctions I had to suffer through. Can't you tell me about Atlantis?"

Puck snorted at the look of wonder on Kurt's face, wishing he could drag the boy down to the kingdom so he could see for himself just how boring it was there. "Fine," he reluctantly agreed after a few seconds of watching Kurt pout. "But then you'll tell me what the hell a Kesha is, okay?"

Kurt laughed, his voice high and melodic and prettier than any siren's song. "Deal, mister merman."

"That's mer_badass_to you, Hummel," Puck corrected imperiously, smirking when Kurt splashed water at him. He launched into yet another anecdote about underwater royalty, loving how open and gorgeous Kurt looked whenever Puck talked of his homeland.

What Puck loved even more were the occasional lingering touches of Kurt's hand as he petted Puck's tail fin, but he would lick a sea cucumber before he let Kurt know he was fondling Puck's merman g-spot. That, combined with Kurt's awesome personality and handsome looks made Puck long for the day he turned eighteen.

They parted ways at sunset, Puck sliding up on the rocks to plant a deep kiss on Kurt's waiting lips. Kurt laughed, like always. "It's weird-your lips are _scaly_."

Puck used his awesomely ripped upper body to stay on the rock long enough for Kurt to pet his hand along Puck's 'mohawk'. He probably had a totally dopey look on his face but Puck couldn't find it in himself to care, not when Kurt was looking at him like that, all soft and sad and vulnerable.

Puck answered Kurt's unvoiced question. "Two more weeks," he said. "Two more weeks, and then I'll be your human boyfriend."

Kurt got the same ridiculous look on his face, his eyes gleaming in the pink-and-orange lighting. "I don't know," he murmured. "I sort of like having a merman for a boyfriend."

Puck laughed and kissed Kurt one last time before swimming backwards into deeper water. He watched as Kurt reluctantly slid off his rock to his feet, legs long and deliciously tanned by the sun. "Fourteen days!" he crowed.

Kurt looked over at him with a breathy laugh. "Fourteen days, Prince Noah, and you're _all mine._"

Whenever Kurt smirked at him like that Puck wondered if his human boyfriend knew about the tail thing after all.


	2. The One with the Snoballs

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #02:_ The One with the Snoballs_

(Inspired by _keeper_of_stars_' prompt, "bring me to life")

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><p>It was the end of the world; they were in the midst of an apocalypse. Puck and Kurt had been on the run from their once living, now flesh-eating friends and family members for the past week or so. Kurt hadn't known whether to laugh or cry when Burt, even undead and craving brains, had the gall to chase Puck around with a crowbar for 'accidentally' grabbing his son's ass on the battlefield.<p>

They met their fate at the hands… well, _claws_of a zombie Santana, pinned to the blood- and gut-spattered asphalt as others eagerly (well, as eager as the undead could be) devoured their flesh. Kurt, always in the mood for the dramatic, was in the middle of "I'll never let go!" when his eerily Frankenstein-like stepbrother took his pinkie finger in one chomp.

Newly transformed, Kurt found the zombie life to be quite humdrum. You have a permanent case of the munchies and you stumble around a bit. In a way, it was like being turned into Finn.

Puck, the asshole who had gotten Kurt in this mess in the first place (they'd been turned into zombie chow while making a pit stop at an overturned Hostess truck at the junk food-loving jock's demand) kept following him around like a lost puppy.

…You know, if puppies happened to smell like decaying flesh and looked like they'd been hacked at like a lumberjack's Thanksgiving turkey.

It was difficult to talk when half your mouth was missing-touching lips with Karofsky hadn't been any better the second time around-but Kurt managed. "Puck… go away."

"But… I'm dying to get with you!" Puck groaned.

Literally. He groaned.

Kurt gave the festering gash on his green-tinged arm a vacant stare before shooting Puck's equally pallid and gnarly form a similar look. "…Puck, if I were to take that seriously…"

"I am being serious!" With one eye dangling out of its socket, it was hard to decide whether Puck was eyeing Kurt's junk or not. Kurt gave him the benefit of the doubt. "Right now, I want you more than I want brains _and_that Snoball." He paused for effect. "Combined."

"Screw. You." Kurt slowly turned to stomp off, but the impact was severely lessened when all he succeeded in was tumbling to the ground in a disgusting, partially eaten heap.

Puck's hand came into Kurt's view, some digits missing at random intervals. "I hate you, Noah So-and-So Puckerman."

"Hate you too," Puck sang, which sounded less like his usual smooth baritone and more like a live chicken going through a meat grinder. "Now let's go make out in front of town hall or something and stun the conservative bastards who'll be our dinner."

Kurt smiled (he tried to, at least) and went to link pinkies with Puck, only to realize they were both missing the same pinkies they'd usually use. Kurt snorted and reached up to pop Puck's eye back in its rightful place instead.

"You're no Romeo but you'll do. But try and grope my a…" Kurt paused to yawn out a groan. "My ass in front of my dad and you're so dead."

Puck snorted. "If I were to take that _literally…_" He laughed when Kurt tried to land a punch, helping out when Kurt nearly dislodged another finger joint. "Fine, I won't grope you in front of your pops, undead or not. Now… Snoballs?"

"Is that _all_you care about?"

"Snoballs and sex, baby," Puck grinned. "C'mon, I think I hear that bitch over there talkin' shit about us. You hungry?"

"Permanently so." Kurt grimaced. "I'm going to get _so_fat."

"Nah, pretty sure zombies have high metabolisms or something," Puck commented idly. "Oooh, Snoballs!"

Kurt face-palmed himself, groaning as his middle finger bent backwards.

_Life_. (Or-well-you get what he meant.)


	3. The One with the Sneakers

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #03: _The One with the Sneakers_

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><p>Kurt loved being a married man and a parent of two but sometimes grocery shopping felt like pulling teeth ("Papa, I want Oreos!" "<em>No<em>, Papa, get _choci' chips!_"), while bath time was akin to the sobfest Puck devolved into whenever he caught the Lifetime showing of _Titanic_. ("Stop laughing, Kurt! She fuckin' promised to never let go, dammit…") And don't even get him _started_on laundry.

His hard-earned domestic lifestyle was definitely a far cry from his high school dreams of New York's bright stage lights and playbills featuring him as the male lead, but the closest Kurt had gotten to Broadway was their annual trip to see a show. While Kurt wasn't in the core of the Big Apple, living it up like the thespian he'd so aspired to become, Kurt was fine living on the outskirts of Ohio in a classy suburban ranch house.

Kurt could hear the front door open and close from where he was in the laundry room, folding ties. (He swore being a father had given him superhuman hearing, as well as the ability to sprout eyes on the back of his head.) He slowed and listened to the familiar heavy footfalls of his husband, half-smiling to himself as he called out a greeting.

"Hey babe," Noah replied after making his way through the maze of Legos and Barbie dolls in the living room. Kurt accepted Puck's standard kiss-on-the-cheek as he folded up Lizzie's new striped sundress. He absently thanked the Clorox gods for saving this poor poly-fiber fabric's soul. (Three words: Memorial Day barbecue.) "What's up?"

"Lizzie went to her friend's house," Kurt practically recited, "And Marcus is with my dad. I need you to go to Lowe's to pick up a new light bulb for the bathroom, and I figured we could go to the grocery store from there. We're out of milk, bread, and duck sauce-" Lizzie's newest be-all, end-all condiment of choice "-and we're _going_to be out of curly fries soon."

"Would ya like fries with that?" Puck teased. Kurt opened his mouth to berate his husband but he took in his husband's kind smile and slightly tired expression. The lines on his face were growing more pronounced, but Kurt was proud to notice that the frown lines-to-laugh lines ratio was incredibly imbalanced.

Kurt set the clothes aside, pulling Noah forward by his loosened Windsor knot. Laundry could wait, he figured, especially when Puck had to be so effortlessly sexy in his slim-fitting dress slacks and thinly pinstriped tie.

They kissed for some time, relishing in the unusual silence of the house. It felt odd being engulfed in such quiet when they'd gotten used to having a five- and three-year-old running rampant all over the place. But a brief respite, Kurt reckoned with Puck's tongue tracing the edges of Kurt's mouth, was always nice.

"Lizzie should be back in fifteen," he gasped out in warning as Noah moved down to Kurt's neck, pushing down the collar of his old show choir t-shirt to suck at the juncture where neck met collarbone.

"Plenty time for a quickie." Puck leaned away to smirk at his husband's dazed expression. "We're _masters_of quickies, babe. We can do this."

"Go team, go," Kurt deadpanned, even as he inwardly cheered. He was going to get laid! Still, he was a bit reluctant, and reasonably so. "Noah, I don't want to risk Lizzie seeing-"

"Turn around."

Kurt shivered at the commanding steel lacing Puck's already endearing baritone. "Please," Kurt shot back as he complied, just because he could.

Puck met Kurt's disdain with a devilish grin. "_Please._"

Kurt bit into his lower lip as Noah reached around to undo the button on his jeans, moaning at the feel of hands ghosting over the front of his boxers. "Noah…"

"Fifteen, you said?" Puck asked, completely disregarding the bulge in Kurt's pants and skating one hand up his husband's chest.

Kurt thrust his hips in Shakira fashion, letting his ass meet Noah's front with a noise of affirmation. He watched, curious, as Puck leaned over him to twist at the knob of the dryer Kurt was being pressed against. The dial was set to ten minutes-"So we'll have time to clean up, 'cause things're about to get _diiiirty_", Puck said with a lewd smirk that made Kurt reminisce about their high school days.

Kurt practically screeched when the cycle started, jerkily canting his hips forward even as Puck pushed him further into the jumping machine. "The fuck you got in there, babe? Bricks?" Puck murmured against his ear before nipping at Kurt's earlobe.

"Liz's sneak…" Kurt choked on a moan. "Sneakers."

Yes, sometimes living the domestic life was a bit trying, but Kurt found a silver lining every now and again.


	4. The One Where Kurt's a Hot French Bird

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #04: _The One Where Kurt's a Hot French Bird_

* * *

><p>"This is what I get for wanting to be 'one of the guys', isn't it?" Kurt lamented for the billionth time since Puck had found it. They had been 'chilling', as Puck put it, which somehow turned into a raid on Kurt's room and… yeah. Here they were.<p>

Back to Kurt, Puck rolled his eyes and bit back a snort, examining the dildo he'd stumbled upon. "I suppose_this_is my punishment for trying to fit in when I'm barely human," Kurt wailed on. A pair of wings, which sprouted from his back a while ago (when Puck offended him by pinching his ass), flapped agitatedly.

Things weren't looking pretty but Puck had to admit, a pissed-off Kurt-who was sort of like those hot French bird-chicks from Harry Potter-was sexy as all get-out.

"Kurt… shut the fuck up. Now," Puck turned to face Kurt, pointing the huge silicone beast at the epicenter of the diva-fit. "I have half a mind to be _really_creeped out right about now."

"So what, taking care of my rampant teenage hormones is creepy?" Kurt demanded defensively. "Is it because of the wings?"

Puck didn't look fazed at all, scratching his chin with his free hand as he watched Kurt. "'s not what I said. I-"

Kurt turned bright red. Haltingly, he said, "_Puck_, I swear to you that the… almost exact measurements of-of my…" he huffed. "I didn't mean to get an exact replica of _Puckzilla!_"

"It's awfully coincidental, 's all I'm sayin'," Puck shrugged, smirking as he tossed the huge fake dick from one hand to the other. He relished the faintly disturbed look on Kurt's face and he had to admit, thinking about someone as pathetically puny and fussy-girly as _Kurt_ shoving a gigantor-cock up his ass was sort of…_interesting._As was the image of Kurt doing that as his set of large tawny wings writhed around him. Huh.

Puck, preoccupied with his only slightly groundbreaking epiphany (come on, that three-way with Matt and April had done a lot to… _open him up_ to bisexuality), didn't really notice Kurt sputtering in a mixture of humiliation and anger. But now that Puck had a surefire get-laid strategy in mind, he noticed how Kurt practically shook with emotion. Puck could _swear_Kurt's nose was beginning to elongate and grow hooked, beaklike.

Before he could be dinner for a pissed-off pigeon-man, he jumped into action with what the Puckasaurus did best. He licked his lips, holding the dildo around its base as he shot Kurt his Bedroom Eyes. The bird-boy met it with a bitchy glare.

"So babe… now that you took it for a test drive, you wanna take a ride on the _real_ thing?"


	5. The One with the PhD

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #05: _The One with the Ph.D_

(Written for _eyesarmslove_. LOVE YOU, SWEETE!)

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><p>Puck didn't know what got into Kurt (y'know, besides the obvious) that made his boy so freaking <em>horny<em> all of a sudden but he figured it had something to do with Kurt being all "OMG you're a college grad!" since this morning's ceremony. Kurt hadn't been able to stop giving Puck the eyes over the expensive lunch Kurt splurged on-Japanese hibachi, because Puck always loved fried rice and the whole flaming onion-volcano deal-despite the fact that Puck's _mom_ and her bearable boyfriend Todd were there with them. And when they got back to their place after family lunch Kurt hadn't even called him immature for pulling the whole slip-his-dick-in-his-diploma surprise trick.

And now...

Kurt had his legs wrapped around Puck's hips, mouth open as he moaned, screamed and cried his way through what had to be the most intense sex of Puck's life. Stripped of everything but Puck's graduation cap whose tassel whipped around with every thrust of Puck's hips. Kurt was hotter than hot.

"Harder, _Doctor_ Pu... Puckerman, fuck m-_mmmm_, please, harderharder_harder!_" If Puck had known things like smarts and Ph.D's (and the occasional dirty-sex-voiced recitations of Shakespearian sonnets through closed, locked, and barricaded bathroom doors after petty fights) were such a freaking turn-on for English majors as flexible and kinky as Kurt Hummel, he might've put more effort into being a better student in high school.

Ah well. Puck was glad it took him such a long time to come to terms with his bisexuality. McKinley wasn't the best environment for "deviancy", anyway. That, and there was the chance that Puck might've never had the motivation to gear up and get himself through high school so he could move all the way to New York and feel free to be himself. Hell, if his life hadn't played out exactly as it did, Puck might've never even _met_ Kurt. Their Lifetime-perfect run-in (literally) had been embarrassing, especially because Puck had been all sweaty and grimy from running laps around campus and hadn't spotted Kurt until it was too late, but Puck wouldn't have changed it for the world.

But as his mother always said, there was no use in fretting over what could've been. With Puck a college grad and, by some stroke of luck, already employed, he had the chance to make up for all that lost time.


	6. The One with Hot Naked Chick

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #06: _The One with Hot Naked Chick_

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><p>Puck had <em>the<em> best apartment. Ever. Forget leaky faucets and smelly probably-infested bedrooms, the view definitely made his shithole better than any fuckin' Buckingham Palace. Hell, dealing with the temperamental cat that came with his apartment was worth it, so long as Hot Naked Chick kept singing and dancing around in nothing but her underwear, sipping at coffee and watching the morning news as she got ready for work.

* * *

><p>The royal wedding special was on, but Kurt was barely watching the TV as he gazed over at Hot Naked Guy's apartment as subtly as possible. He nearly choked on his morning brew when he caught an eyeful of the...<em>assets<em> Mr. Guns was working with.

Holy Mother Monster, talk about a morning wake-up call.


	7. The One Were

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #07: _The One Were_

* * *

><p>Dating and mating a werewolf wasn't as spectacular as those stupid books made it out to be. Sure, the sex was awesome and everything, and getting to ride-<em>literally<em> ride your boyfriend to a fight club meet was pretty badass but it was hard to get into a good scuffle when your possessive man-dog was watching and waiting for any excuse to tear out some jugulars.

_The sex is awesome,_ Puck thought to himself as he turned a page in his copy of Sports Illustrated. _The sex is awesome and the rest is just whatever._

Since his prime real estate had been claimed as werewolf territory Puck had been quick to learn the ins and outs of the whole sitch. The pamphlets Miss Pillsbury had weren't so helpful, but at least _YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE ANOTHER RIDING HOOD: How to Tame Your Big, Bad Wolf_ gave him tips on how to get Kurt under control before shit went down.

(Some good Samaritan posted a xeroxed list of really kinky techniques on how to "train" his "beast". Puck used the scratch-behind-the-ear trick so many fucking times it wasn't even funny.)

So when Puck was able to _hear_ Kurt coming before his boyfriend even stormed into the library, he was on instant red alert. The growling noises resounding throughout the library made the magazine vibrate in his hands and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The nerds and the slackers cutting class parted like the Red Sea for Kurt. Kurt, the furious werewolf who was making a beeline straight for Puck.

He felt defenseless in his bean bag chair, so Puck stood, being sure to keep it at a slow pace. The last time he'd leaped up from a chair during one of Kurt's pre-full moon tantrums, Puck had almost gotten Jacob Ben Israel mauled. Granted, the douche _was_ the moron trying to interview a werewolf two days before a new cycle, but...

"What's up, babe?"

"Don't _babe_ me, Puckerman," Kurt growled... literally. "Where is he? Don't give me that moronic look, Puck-_where. Is. He?_"

When your significant other was on flea and tick control instead of birth control, you learned to tread lightly. Puck was still learning how to keep his cool whenever Kurt, in a fit of wolf-mate paranoia, blew a gasket and wound up (inevitably) insulting Puck.

"I look _moronic_ because I have no fucking clue what the hell you're whining about," Puck snapped.

What? He _did_ say he was still learning.

Kurt wasted no time in backing Puck into shelves _Al_ through _An_ in the self-help section. Speaking of help, where the fuck was the librarian when you needed the bitch? Puck glanced around the ghost town of a library, scowling as he met Kurt's amber-tinged eyes.

"Watch your tone, Mate," Kurt snarled. "Tell me the name of the soon-to-be-dead asshole who you were with."

Puck gaped at Kurt in shock. "Who I was-_what the hell_, Kurt? I wasn't _with_ anyone, alright? You know I'm yours."

"Mine," Kurt agreed. His voice was getting sort of garbled, like satellite TV during a thunderstorm. His eyes were more yellow than blue by now so Puck knew he didn't have much longer to try and "leash" Kurt. (That's what the not-pamphlet called it, at least.)

Kurt had him held down stronger than an infamous Zizes Cradle but Puck managed to work his hand free, letting it skate down Kurt's twitching spine. He smiled as Kurt's grip quickly went from _I'm About to Go Wolf and Kill Someone_ to __. "Yeah, you got that right. I told you I'd be yours, remember? You ain't got a damn thing to worry about, babe."

Kurt was quickly winding down, but he still put up a fuss, petulant growls bubbling past a half-snarl. Puck didn't know why Kurt bothered when they both knew Kurt was seriously whipped and would do almost anything Puck told him to do. "Dave was flirting with you again, wasn't he? That bastard, wait till he gets what he deserves!"

Puck stopped himself from rolling his eyes, but just barely. "Holy crap, Kurt! Come _on_, gimme some credit. You know I wouldn't go slumming with the likes of that douche."

"But..." Growls became whimpers and Puck did an internal victory dance. "I smell him on you," Kurt argued weakly.

"Locker room scuffle," Puck clarified, grabbing Kurt by the back of his neck when the teen wolf tensed. "I won, so chillax. Just 'cause I'm your mate doesn't mean I need a werewolf to fight my battles," he grinned.

Kurt shot him a sour look but nuzzled against Puck's neck anyway, humming in pleasure as Puck palmed and kneaded his pressure point. "I don't care if you don't need me to, I _want_ to."

"Fine," Puck conceded, gasping when Kurt's partially lupine teeth nipped at his collarbone. "Next time Dave even blinks my way, I'll let my boyfriend loose."

"That's more like it," Kurt purred, finally more human than werewolf as he tugged Puck into a kiss.

Being with a werewolf wasn't better than _normal_ dating-shit, some days he felt like throwing in the towel-but Puck figured it was the whole dating _Kurt_ thing that kept him interested.


	8. The One without Hair

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #08: _The One with(out) Hair_

(Inspired by _icewhisper_'s "Puck's a manscaper" prompt.)

* * *

><p>Kurt thought nothing of it as he ran his hands up and down Puck's toned, smooth arms.<p>

He was a little curious when a white Hanes was torn away to reveal more silky, supple skin for his hands to skate over. _One, two, three_-each component of Puck's six pack felt like sea glass to his questing fingertips and then his tongue as Kurt decoded the jock's form.

When a pair of loose-fitting jeans were shucked, curiosity transitioned into outright disbelief. (Puck's Nintendo boxers were still on; it wasn't _that._) From muscle-packed thigh to surprisingly delicate ankle, each of Puck's beautifully tanned legs were uninterrupted by the dark hair Kurt expected (and sort of hoped) would be there.

And finally, when the boxers were ripped off Kurt was rendered speechless. Puck was definitely well-hung... expected. But what Kurt _didn't_ expect was...

"_What the ever-loving_-Puck, do you _wax?_"

Puck's face, peppered with stubble (one of the few places on the boy's body where hair remained), turned pink. "I do some maintenance work, so what?" he snapped.

Kurt opened his mouth to say something, only to glance down at Puck's di-. "Puck... do you have a _pube-hawk?_"

Puck was a pretty hardcore manscaper. Kurt wasn't sure how he felt about that until Puck nearly came when Kurt sucked a light hickey onto that mostly-hairless groin. And then, well, he was pretty much sold.

"Just-I draw the line at dyed pubes," Kurt said a mite desperately. (Puck was too busy moaning to respond.)


	9. The One with the Sculpted Abs

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #09: _The One with the Sculpted Abs_

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel hand been drawn to New York from the very start and he, a ticking time bomb about ready to explode under small-town oppression, couldn't find it in himself to resist its balloon-string pull.<p>

After the whirlwind hurricane in the beginning of junior year, he left glee and drifted from his other friends, instead hacking away at college applications like a chisel meeting marble. Kurt had been looking through fabulous but rose-colored designer glasses as he thought of his future: no Dave Karofsky, no depressing memories, just authentic Italian pizza and plenty of limelight by which to cultivate his success.

He felt like an American dream waiting to come true; it was only a matter of time.

In the beginning, a matter of time seemed so short, so finite. And then it lagged on and on, tuition building up and money swirling down the drains until Kurt saw just how far off his goals were. He dropped out in less than a year.

Despite being long beyond the city limits of his hometown, Kurt encountered more than enough Dave Kaofskys and Azimios. His naive vision of the city of big lights grew dull and tarnished but with every hardship overcome, Kurt grew stronger and bolder. A Hummel through and through, he never gave up and once he got his sea legs, so to speak, he was able to handle living in the City.

Today found Kurt holed up in his closet of an apartment (closet jokes aside, _s'il vous plait_), his glasses precariously perched on the bridge of his nose as he inspected his unfinished sculpture. Nowadays, he worked on art-mostly paintings and photography-in his free time and right now, he was making the most of a generous hunk of clay gifted to him by a friend of a thespian friend he'd met during his brief stint in college.

His work in progress had a single direction but it was a road Kurt was hesitant to travel down. There were too many memories, too many hurts to go through. He couldn't rush something as meaningful as this, and so he let his artwork haunt him day and night, festering to the point of a boil-over of creativity. He let the piece and the past whisper him out of his sleep, lure him away from breakfast and keep him from having a social life. The sculpture of a specific male form was his most personal admission that could be his potential shot at fame but Kurt knew, deep down, it was too personal a creation to exploit for petty cash and recognition.

He had some time to kill before his shift, so he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. It wasn't a delicate procedure: bits of clay landed on his chin, under the table and in his hair but it was a labor of love. His tools helped create a basic structure, but Kurt pushed them aside to trace and dig his fingers into the figure, feeding his life into the cool, smooth matter. He traced out a pair of pectoral muscles, followed by the gorgeously sculpted abs he remembered so very well from his short-lived teenage love affair. The hip bones needed work and the external obliques were _totally_ incorrect and-

But then it was time for work. Kurt sighed, wiping a tear from his eye as he went to clean up.

* * *

><p>Months passed. Kurt nearly strangled himself over getting the perfect bicep shape and size (<em>"Kurt, have you<em>seen_ these guns? Fully loaded!"_) and the collarbones had nearly been the death of him, but he did it. His prized masterpiece was complete. But...

It seemed to be missing something.

Kurt chucked his porcelain mug of cooled coffee into the sink as he stormed into the next room, uncaring as the shatter of glass resounded in his lonely little abode.

* * *

><p>Kurt woke in the middle of the night to two surprises. The first one was the lack of something-namely his beautiful sculpture.<p>

He flew out of his futon bed with a strangled, pain-filled noise. He had eyes only for the emptiness of his kitchenette table, illuminated by the soft glow of a nightlight. He flailed around for his glasses as he tried to disentangle himself from the covers, only the bedsheets seemed to tug him back. He looked down and nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Holy _shit_, who the hell are you and why are you in my house-_in my b_-"

Kurt's eyes took in the chiseled jaw, the gently dimpled chin amplified by the dramatic shadows of the deep night, those soulfully alive hazel eyes.

_Alive._

"Babe, what's-" Puck coughed a bit, closing his eyes and swallowing with some difficulty. "What's your problemo? You look like you've seen a ghost or somethin'."

Kurt could only continue to gape as Puck sat up, shoving his hands below the covers to scratch at himself. "Christ, my throat feels like the Sahara. And my _legs,_" he moaned, kicking away the covers as he bent his kneecaps. They cracked like gunshots, as if they hadn't been used in years. The same happened when he rolled his shoulders and stretched his back. Puck turned to glance back at Kurt, grinning after a moment. "Whoa, babe. Might wanna close that pretty mouth of yours. You'll give a man the wrong impression, looking at me like that."

"Puck..." Kurt's voice sounded just as unused, just as crackly and wavering as Puck's, the man he thought he'd lost all those years ago to a fatal car accident.

"...Kurt." Puck's grin grew a bit softer but the ever-present mischief was still there. The moment was ruined by the roaring of an empty stomach. Puck laughed, getting up and dragging Kurt by the arm as well. "Damn, I could eat a horse right now! C'mon, babe. I've waited too long to be with you again, and right now I want to have some kick-ass diner food with my hot artist boyfriend."

"But you..."

Puck gave him an unsually serious look. "Kurt. I'll tell you everything, anything you wanna know but right now... let's wait. Alright? We've got time, babe."

Kurt had so many questions to ask, countless things to say. _Why are you here? How did you unearth yourself from a casket and a grave and find me, more than five hundred miles from home?_ His mouth opened before he thought better of it. "Why do you still have that godawful hair? I don't remember adding that."

Puck's face broke out in a wide grin as he ran his free hand-the hand Kurt wasn't holding in a clammy death grip-from the base to the top of his signature mohawk. "That's a Puckerone original, baby," he purred. "Now c'mon, babe. It's three am and I'm jonesin' for some Belgian waffles."

There were many questions (and many doubts) lingering in Kurt's mind as he let his previously dead boyfriend drag him through the ever-bustling streets of New York but for the moment he would enjoy it, fume-induced hallucination or not.


	10. The One with the Fat Lip

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #06: _The One with the Fat Lip_

* * *

><p>At first you ask, "Why do I do this?" When it begins, you wonder how you got so fucked up to sink to this level, the subbasement space that's between Dave Karofsky and bizarre fetishists on a scale of zero to seriously insane. You ask yourself the what's and the why's but the answers are about as forthcoming as the mercy of this twisted game you've willingly put yourself in.<p>

You used to be sweeter, kinder, _innocent._ You wish you could pinpoint the moment when Kurt Hummel sank to the level of the social delinquents and miscreants he was so much better than, you want to find out where your priorities changed, where you took the wrong turn on your road to stardom.

Maybe it was the moment Dave Karofsky lost it all and almost put you in a coma. Maybe it was the moment when a whisper from a skunk-haired juvie-trash punk going through douchebag rehab set you off like a wildfire, when a blunt observation revved you up to the point of no return. Maybe Robert Frost _was_ right and nothing gold would ever remain pure and untouched.

Kurt Hummel's springtime days had ended the moment Puck asked him to check out a fight club meet. Kurt was scared of his own shadow, even with newfound safety from a locked-up Karofsky and the thought of being tossed into a wild scuffle had his blood running cold. Puck took one look at Kurt's face and casually offered, "I could teach you, if you want."

And maybe that was where things went awry.

Another day, another miscalculation: one more bruise to add to his collection of black-and-blue rites of passage.

"You're getting better," Puck commented, leaning forward to examine himself in the basement mirror. "Look, I got a fat lip."

Kurt tried smiling, but it was hard when his muscles felt like propane-soaked fibers struck with a match. It was getting easier to bear, though. "Awesome."

They took a breather, accounting for their injuries, testing their aching limbs and organ-checking themselves and each other. Kurt gasped when Puck's fingers met a particularly tender spot on his left side. Puck glanced up for a moment before looking away. "It's nothing, a little ice and you'll be fine."

They decided on one more round before calling it a night. Kurt's dad would be home soon anyway, and with Finn and Carole out in Canada to visit relatives, his father could be doubly suspicious of Finn's friend's presence in their home when Finn was hundreds of miles away.

"First blood," Puck decided after a moment. Kurt nodded somberly, getting himself into position and out of his mind. Life's troubles, Puck taught him from the start, needed to be filed away when you were in the thick of a fight. You didn't kick and bite and punch to solve your problems; fight club was just the anaesthetic, the physical drain taxing enough to help your mind unwind.

Kurt lunged forward and nearly toppled Puck over, not out of surprise but out of the sheer strength he'd accumulated over the course of their time together. Puck grunted, bicep muscles visibly flexing (they'd lost the shirts a while back-Kurt wasn't nearly as self-conscious as before, but he still got a little flustered at the sight of Puck's powerful frame and his scarred, messed-up nipple) and it took him a couple moments to regain his footing and push Kurt back. Each millisecond he struggled was kindle to Kurt's fire.

It was their fourth go-around, so they were both pretty taxed. In the end, it was petty pride that had Kurt losing his footing. It was a common mistake, Puck would always tell him, to let the little successes get the better of you before you took home a win. "You're winning the battle, not the war." Puck had said in a moment of profound wisdom, before sullying it up in typical Puckerman fashion. "Or somethin'. I was too busy palming myself during freshman history to remember much."

Puck had Kurt to the floor in under a few minutes. Kurt had made the mistake of striking out when he should've gone with a defense. They were huffing and puffing like chain smokers after a marathon and Kurt couldn't seem to look away from those heaving, glistening abdominal muscles of Puck's.

_Another common mistake,_ Kurt thought to himself in resigned terror. _Getting a stiffie when your opponent's straddling you._

Puck quirked a brow as Kurt flushed and looked away, bloodied knuckles clenching on either side of Puck's kneecaps. "It's just adrenalin," Kurt insisted desperately, panting as Puck leaned back on his haunches. Kurt's eyes doubled in size at the responding hardness against him.

He met Puck's eyes, where the lust of warfare and the simple lust of lust were intertwined to the point of no return. They burned slowly into him, fiercer than a white-hot branding iron. "Sure. Just the thrill of the fight," he agreed.

He made no move to overthrow Puck. They were technically still in the thick of a fight but Puck didn't lay claim to his victory... unless leaning in and planting a hot, wet one on Kurt, blood and bruises and all, was part of the winner's code.


	11. The One that's NonKosher

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #13: _The One that's Non-Kosher_

* * *

><p><em>Click.<em> "Oh my god..." _Click-click._ "Dude..." _Scroll._ "...How is that even _possible?_"

Kurt paused in the middle of a rather engaging _Vogue_ article to frown at his partner whose face was unfortunately blocked by the back of a laptop. He glared at his own reflection in the shiny black surface. "Hon... didn't we agree, no laptops at the breakfast table?"

Puck made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, only to cut himself off with a surprised moan. "Whoa, that _has_ to be photoshopped!"

Kurt slammed the magazine down with more than a little anger. "Puck, I'm eating breakfast and you're looking at _porn?_"

Puck's head finally peeked over the lip of the laptop, looking very much like a curly-headed meerkat poking its head out of a burrow. "What? No! I was just..."

Fully revved from agitated to incensed, Kurt stood up, his chair screeching against the tiled floor as he stomped his way around the table for two, snatching Puck's shoulder and forcing the other man back and away from the keyboard before he could ex out the current page.

"..." Kurt shot a confused glance to Puck, whose eyes were steadfastly glued to the floor. "Puck, why... what's food porn?"

Puck opened his mouth to say something but quickly reconsidered.

"And why are you looking at _bacon?_" Kurt asked, a grin slowly working its way onto his face. "You know, I have a feeling your mother would be _very_ disappointed in you if she found out about your non-Kosher porcine love affair."

Puck grumbled something under his breath before gently shoving Kurt away from his laptop. "Shut up. Just... go finish your breakfast."

Kurt snorted, the tell-tale beginning of a serious Kurt Hummel giggle fit. "Sure! Unless you wanted to jerk off to my Raisin Bran? Oh my god," Kurt wheezed, "This is priceless. I knew I'd risk getting fat from marrying a chef, but _losing my man to bacon?_ What has the world come t-_oh!_"

Puck grinned as he palmed Kurt through his slacks, pushing him up against the stainless steel fridge with enough force to leave the man breathless. "If I can learn to accept your ridiculous scarf fetish, you'll sure as hell take me with my non-Kosher porn. Clear?"

"I didn't hear you bitching about my _ridiculous_ scarves last ni-alright, okay! Crystal clear," Kurt giggled before breaking off into another moan. "Keep rubbing me like that and I might let you take the Reddi-Whip into bed after all."


	12. The One with the Ass

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #12: _The One with the Ass_

* * *

><p>"Prince Kurt," Puck, a hulking ogre in his prime, gave an exaggerated bow in the direction of "His Majesty". Puck inwardly scoffed. If he hadn't known better, man... dude looked like a lady.<p>

The Prince's face, which had been hilariously warped in shock, quickly schooled itself blank. "I'm sorry, you are?"

"Your night in shining armor." Puck said so with relish, smirking and flexing one hulking green arm. Finn, stupid ass that he was, ruined the moment by galloping straight into Puck, making them both stumble. Puck yelled in frustration, picking the donkey up over his head before flinging him over to the large canopy bed. "Stupid donkey!"

"Dude!"

Kurt cleared his throat, arms folded and eyebrows raised as the pair turned back to the royalty they were supposed to bring back to Blaine, the Prince of Duloc. "_You're_ my saviors?"

Puck and Finn exchanged twin looks of smug satisfaction. "Seems so," Puck shrugged.

"Great." Kurt scoffed but allowed the two to lead him out of the castle, past the slain dragon and around the corpses of the wannabe rescuers. Puck didn't question it when Kurt stopped to stare at the dragon's unmoving reptilian form.

At long last, Kurt turned away, surreptitiously sniffing and wiping at his eye. "Let's go."

They didn't cover much ground that day; the prudish prince forced the party to stop at a shelter for the night.

"Dude, c'mon," Puck insisted. "We could get so much farther than this. If you're tired, I could-"

Kurt leveled him with a pissed-off frown. "I'm _Prince Kurt_, not _dude._ And I am exhausted and I demand we rest at once!"

Puck glared right back. "_Prince_, you've had _years_ to rest! Let's just-"

"No!"

"Fine, you lazy princess!"

"_Good,_ you bumbling oaf!"

"Good!"

Kurt stomped over to the dingy shack, yanking the door open. "Good! I bid you a good night, _Finn._" He glared one last time in Puck's direction before slamming the door closed.

The donkey turned to watch as Puck shouted his frustrations out, startling a flock of birds out of some nearby trees. Finn hid his grin as he watched his ogre friend stomp off in the direction of the woods, large green form highlighted by the setting sun.

He waited until the temperamental ogre was out of earshot before laughing out loud, rolling in the dirt with unrestrained mirth. "Oh my _god_, they _so_ want each other!"


	13. The One with the Fantasy

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #13: _The One with the Fantasy_

(A Puckurt-flavored fantasy written as an addition to the "Britney/Brittany" episode: a mash-up of "Till the World Ends" and "Hold It Against Me", both by Britney Spears.)

* * *

><p>Kurt had been getting his Britney on, all sensuality and sass in his black and white ensemble-<p>

Puck had been rockin' the freaking Fruit-of-the-_Looms_ offa those drooling freshies in the front row- _when disaster (Puck's foot catching Kurt sprawled out on the floor) struck._

Kurt went out first as the toe of Puck's shoe kicked him in the head...

With that stupid Jack and Jill nursery rhyme running through his mind, Puck fell onto Kurt, his forehead hitting the stage floor.

_**CRACK!**_

* * *

><p><em><em>_**CRACK!**_

Puck's hands seemed to move of their own accord before he realized what he was doing, looking down to see a freshly opened bottle of beer in one. He frowned and glanced up, eyes widening at the club he found himself in.

"Dude, my drink?" An impatient Finn snatched the cold bottle of out Puck's lax hand and turned away without another word.

Puck blinked, taking in the bar he was manning. "Whoa. What the..."

"I think this is our own Britney moment," someone said dryly. Puck snapped his head around to where the voice came from, eyebrows rising at the sight of Kurt Hummel sprawled out along one corner of the bar top.

"Dude..." Puck swallowed as his eyes raked over Kurt's form. "What happened? The last thing I remember... we were on stage."

"We _were_, until you pulled a Finn and tripped on me," Kurt added helpfully, rolling his eyes as he took a sip from his glass.

Puck watched Kurt's Adam's apple bob as the drink went down. "Something tells me that's not Coke."

Kurt licked his lips with a devilish grin. "You must've gained common sense when your head hit the floor."

Puck opened his mouth to spew some jerk-off retort, something about Kurt's leather hooker boots maybe but before he could get the chance, a thunderous bass beat started from the floorboards of the bar. The punching rhythm seemed to jump into Kurt's body and Puck watched with unconcealed interest as Kurt practically slithered off the bar, boots hitting the floor in time with the beat.

Kurt pivoted on his heel with a quiet, guttural _"Oh!"_ and his half-lidded gaze was all for Puck.

_"This kitten got your tongue tied in knots, I see..."_ Puck yelped as Kurt reached across the space between them to yank Puck as close to his face as he could. Puck glanced down and watched Kurt's hips undulate against the wooden ledge. _"Spit it out 'cause I'm dying for company..._ Company," Kurt repeated in a whisper, black-rimmed eyes dancing as he stared at Puck.

_"I notice that you got it, you notice that I want it-"_ Kurt dragged Puck as he walked down the expanse of the bar, strutting like a model working the runway, until only air stood between them. _"You know that I can take it..."_ A wicked grin-_"To the next level, baby!"_-followed by hands pulling him close enough to bump against equally wicked hips that rolled into Puck's. His own hands hesitantly reached out to steady them, only to be pulled into their hulaing orbit.

_"I can't take it, take it, take no more, never felt like, felt like this before!"_ Kurt shoved Puck away without preamble and backed towards the center of the dance floor, eyes never leaving Puck's. _"Come on get me, get me on the floor... baby what you , what you waiting for?_ Ha!"

Unseen voices from a crowd fired up jumped in, loud heart-racing _Whoa oh-oh!_'s echoing all around as Puck's body gravitated toward Kurt. His mouth opened on its own accord. _"If I said my heart was beating loud, if we could escape the crowd somehow..."_ Kurt grinned as Puck caught him by the front of his jacket, tugging Kurt forward and int0 the most fucked-up sexy violation of personal space.

_"If I said I want your body now... would you hold it against me?"_ Kurt complied with a laugh, the vibrations in his chest sparking a twin reaction in Puck's. _"'Cause you feel like paradise, and I-"_

_"Need a vacation tonight!"_ Kurt and Puck harmonized, baritone and soprano and hips and lips dancing around one another in dizzying spins and brushes.

_"So if I said I want your body now..."_ Puck sang into Kurt's ear, _"Would you hold it against me?"_

The crowd erupted into their hollered, wordless and toneless anthem, jumping and fist-pumping as, in the epicenter of the action, Kurt pulled Puck into a heated kiss.

_Whoa oh-oh-oh-oooh!_

* * *

><p><em>Whoa oh o-<em> "Oh my _god_ baby-boo, are you alright?"

Kurt blinked his eyes a few times, recoiling from the bright stage lights that beat into his retinas with staggering force. Everything was a bit blurred and he could hear more than see Mercedes' presence. "...Shush, 'Cedes," he groaned. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

"...Boy, you're lucky you already knocked yourself silly, otherwise I'd slap you for telling me to shut up."

"Love ya too," he grumbled. "Why can't I..."

"Fuuuuck," Puck hissed, his warm breath hitting the side of Kurt's neck. "Feels like an elephant judo-kicked me in the head."

Kurt craned his neck to look over at Puck, frowning a bit. "...Puck?"

Puck met Kurt's gaze and for one confused moment, they stared at each other. The feeling of someone walking on the stage towards them brought back memories of a sick beat and the smell of booze. Their eyes widened in tandem, their freaked-out _What the fuck?_'s lost to Schue announcing that Sue was filing a lawsuit against the glee club for "that skunk-tailed ruffian dry-humping Porcelain into the tarnished stage floor".

"I thought it was sexy," Brittany said, shrugging when everyone looked at her in varying expressions of disbelief. "What? It _was_."

Puck, who had lifted his head up to stare at their teacher, let his head fall against Kurt's chest with a huffed laugh. Kurt smiled, until...

His entire body froze. "Puck... is that your can of Axe, or is it...?"

_"Oh god!"_

"Finn! Watch out for that-"

_**WHACK!**_

"Oh, for the love of...!"

Kurt gave a strangled laugh while Puck just smirked, rolling his hips as he asked Kurt, in a voice that brooked no argument as to what could come next, "If it was... _would you hold it against me?"_


	14. The One with the Babygate Redux

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #14: _The One with the Babygate Redux_

* * *

><p>He had been messing around. He didn't mean for it to happen, he told himself. He didn't <em>want<em>it to happen. But it didn't matter what he wanted; the reality was that it had happened.

Puck had been bored. (And isn't that how shit always starts?) Sure, he had homework to do, but there were people he copied from whenever he didn't feel like being a good student. His room, a perpetual mess, was the scene of where disaster had struck.

He was on one of his usual porn sites when he saw it. It was an ad for one of those stupid baby-maker things-_See What Your Kid Will Look Like!_ or some shit like that. Puck had been _bored_goddammit, that was all! And so he had clicked on the box and toyed with some shit. He chose the sexiest pic of himself from his computer files.

The site asked for a pic of the mom. Puck's mind didn't even bother with Quinn. Now _that_was a road that didn't need any traveling. He thought of Santana, then Sam but of some freakish mix of curiosity and freaky humor, Puck had found Kurt's Facebook page and copy-pasted his profile pic in the site's empty slot.

His computer whacked out as soon as he clicked "Enter", taking over control of the cursor. Puck watched with wide eyes as the invisible user opened a new internet window and went straight to Puck's e-mail account. His mind raced with thoughts of hackers and government bugs, thinking of his browsing history full of porn and illegal music downloads and shit. He cursed out loud, watching as his computer clicked into his Inbox where one new message lay in wait for him.

The cursor came to a stop, hovering over the unread message like a bull's-eye. Puck gulped, glancing around his room before leaning forward. He hesitated for a moment and watched to see if his computer would spaz out again. When nothing happened, he rolled his eyes at himself and clicked the link to open the message.

There wasn't a return address or a name, just an ominous one-liner that read:

**Congratulations, you and Kurt Hummel are with child!**

Puck swallowed, panic rising in his chest when his cell rang. The caller ID read "Princess". He broke out into a sweat even as he accepted the call. "...Hello?"

"_Noah Puckerman, I am going to kill you!_"


	15. The One with the Technical Support

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #15: _The One with the Technical Support_

* * *

><p>Schuester released them all with a weary smile, praising them for catching the unsub before it was too late for the serial arsonist's latest victims. And yet, the success of another murder case solved did nothing to alleviate the harsh tightness that had taken home in his chest.<p>

Puck had been positively driven since the team had found the charred remains of a preschool class, pushing his body and his mind to the brink as he followed countless leads and the equally numerous dead ends only fueled his passion to catch the creep _du jour_. His obsession with the case had gotten to the point where his team had barricaded him in his own hotel room so he had a better chance of getting the downtime his body so desperately needed. Kurt had called him from home base to shout and mother hen him; even nearly halfway across the country, the techie still had the power to whip Puck into shape.

Schue picked up on his team's somberness. "Another day, another case." he told them all. Puck wished it were that simple.

He left for the tech lab without another word to the other agents. No one dared interrupt him whenever he made a beeline for Kurt's lair. The two mostly communicated through phone calls while on duty, so whenever Puck made stops at Kurt's office everyone knew that something was up. Even Jacob, the nosey intern they all loved to hate, knew to steer clear of Puck as he stormed off to the computer labs.

Kurt was waiting for him outside the lab, belongings in hand. They wordlessly walked to the exit as one, their footfalls hitting the floor in tandem. Puck walked out first and Kurt knew better than to complain when Puck didn't hold the door for him. Right then, playful flirting was the farthest thing from their minds.

They went to Kurt's place with the intent of screwing the angst away, only Kurt stopped Puck mid-thrust. Puck panted, looking down at Kurt like he was seeing the man for the first time. "What-Kurt, did I hurt you?"

Kurt loosened his grip on Puck's broad, naked shoulders, shaking his head in reassurance. "No, baby. I'm fine, but... are you?"

Puck frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked even as his throat closed up, the tightness in his chest rising to an overwhelming wave of aching.

"You're not here," Kurt murmured. He slowly let his legs fall from Puck's waist, wincing a bit when Puck slipped out of his barely lubricated hole. He tugged the agent down to rest beside him on his bed, rolling on his side to pull Puck flush against him. "It's not the biggest turn-on, being fucked by a robo-zombie."

"Sorry I'm not good enough," he snarled. The feeling of rejection, on top of the aching memories of blackened children's toys and tiny fire-licked corpses, made his eyes sting and his knuckles thrum with the urge to hit something.

Kurt sighed as Puck went to get up, easily latching onto the other man like an overgrown koala. "It's not that you're not good enough, it's that you're so good you're almost _too_ good." Kurt gave Puck a sad smile, petting the confused frown with his fingertips. "Noah Puckerman, beneath that uncaring, womanizing badass facade, you are one of the kindest men I've ever met. Sometimes it's easy for forget that but whenever you deal with cases like this..." Kurt closed his eyes, shaking his head. Puck distantly wondered why Kurt's voice sounded so strained. Those pretty, usually devious blues opened up once more, gazing at Puck with such conviction and emotion that it seemed to shrink the room and suck out all of the oxygen with it. "You're so dedicated to this job, Noah, and I hate it when I have to see you like this."

"Babe... why you cryin'?" Puck chuckled, even as his own eyes overflowed.

"Because I love you," Kurt replied, laughing just as shakily. He pressed a few hard kisses against Puck's lips before forcing the agent's head down to rest in the nape of his neck. "Now let me snuggle you, okay?"

"But-"

"_No but's._"

There was no getting around Kurt when he was on one of his bossy kicks. "...Waffles in the morning?" he asked meekly.

He could feel, rather than see Kurt's smile. "Duh," he replied. "Now get some shut-eye, Boy Wonder."

He complied without another word, letting Kurt's breathing and gently massaging fingers on his scalp lull him to sleep. A job well done never felt particularly pleasant in his line of work, but at least he had Kurt there to make things better.


	16. The One with the Tricks

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #16: _The One with the Tricks_

* * *

><p>Noah's living the life. A successful career with billions in the bank, a home he'd built himself on the remotest corner of the world, and a lover to call his own. What more could he ask for, when he was his own boss working out of his own home with his doting husband just a shout away?<p>

He sat back with a smile, scratching at the irksome stubble growing in as he took in his latest success. An e-reader with simulations and special effects to make the experience no different from reading a real book. He was especially proud of his installation that tricked the olfactory sensory neurons into smelling old books and printed ink.

Kurt might've playfully nabbed at him for his obsessive compulsive tendencies more than a few times but until he was methodically scrubbing his keyboards and home-grown laboratory, Puck would waste his last breath claiming that attention to details didn't equate to possible psychosis.

He was just finishing off a holo-mail to his latest customer with the news of his success when his ears caught the sound of Kurt calling his name. "Just a minute!" Puck yelled back, quickly sending off the missive to Doctor Abrams, the head of New Directions Medical Research Labs.

Puck entered the kitchen and was greeted with the sight of his husband's backside, deliciously tempting as the other man bent over to check Puck's late dinner. It was well past two and even Rachel and Finn, the pair of Arctic Wolves lurking outside their toasty paradise had ceased their mournful wailing at the moon to turn in for the night.

He and Kurt were talking about possibly expanding their roomy yet cozy home to add on a greenhouse for Kurt to keep busy with when Kurt stopped mid-sentence, mid-motion, mid-smile. Puck's face fell at the lifelessness in his husband's eyes, feeling failure like a punch to the gut. He heaved himself out of his chair with a sigh, reminding himself that nothing was foolproof.

All it took to bring his husband back was a little tinkering with the circuits within Kurt's "chest cavity". After a few minutes, Puck pressed "RESET" and watched Kurt as resurrected his system.

Puck pressed that blasted button and allowed himself, his heart and his mind to be roped back in to the believability of his greatest magic trick. Kurt carried on like nothing was amiss; it just might be for him, the most complex and well-played version of the long-dead man he'd been fashioned after but each malfunction made Puck feel a little more dead inside. As Kurt hurried to pull Puck's reconstituted Kosher dinner from Puck's patented hydrowave, the scientist sat back and swore his heart was growing colder with each fail, becoming the cold, unfeeling steel skeleton lurking just underneath his husband's "skin". (If only his heart could be as indestructible as steel, Puck mused.)

Yes, Noah's living the life. It just so happens that a perfect life is his own devised equation of painstakingly accurate details carefully mechanized lies.


	17. The One with the Mischief

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #17: _The One with the Mischief_

* * *

><p>In the middle of a boring lecture in American History, Puck passed Mercedes a folded piece of paper labeled "Kurt", raising his eyebrow and nodding his head over to where Kurt sat two chairs down. He didn't do anything to stop her as she opened the note, a drawing of Mrs. Kenny straddling her desk and wearing some eye-popping leather gear. Mercedes scoffed at the contents of the note but wordlessly passed it along to the girl right beside Kurt. The spiky-haired little freshman transfer slid it over to the boy to her right without glancing up from her note-taking.<p>

Kurt unfolded the notebook paper in his hands, rolling his eyes at the crude caricature of their English teacher but smiling all the same. He spied Puck wriggling his hands below his desk just before the rough graphite sketch on the paper melted into the blue veins and white gaps, shooting across a few lines and rearranging themselves until Kurt was staring down at a perpetually developing porn story... about Kurt.

He went particularly red at the images Puck's words conjured (_And you would be tight and pink around me_) and he could feel his heart rate climb steadily higher as the story progressed. He struggled to control his breath and not give anyone the crazy idea that he found Mrs. Kenny's lesson on the history of women's rights arousing. Wouldn't _that_ give him some odd glances?

He clenched his pencil in his hand, torn between using the back of Puck's head for target practice and inviting Puck over after all: to hell with doctors-or dentists, whatever Kurt's excuse had been, suffering a broken heart couldn't be any worse than suffering a permanent stiffie.

He grit his teeth and growled as he crumpled the page in his clammy hand, ignoring the wince of the girl beside him. God, sometimes he really hated getting involved with mischievous sprites, especially the cruel ones who used their powers to string poor mere mortals along by their blue balls and _laughed_ at their defenseless human lovers' woes.

_Two can play this game,_ Kurt thought as he maliciously tore a clean sheet of paper from his notebook.

Puck's quiet laughter was cut short by the yelp that bubbled forth from his lips when Mercedes' pointy-toed boot met the side of his calf with bruising force. He was about to ask her what the fuck was up with insta-PMS when the girl, smirking like the diva bitch she was, tapped one glittery aquamarine fingernail against a simple note that read: _Please send Puck a violent act of your choice. __- Kurt_

Puck scowled but noticed the little arrow at the bottom that pointed to a dog-eared corner. He glanced over at a seemingly oblivious Kurt before unfolding it.

_I lied. When can you come over? Wanna see if you can make good on your promise. (;_

Puck smirked as Kurt flinched, glancing down at the ball of paper vibrating against his hand. Kurt met Puck's eye as he opened and smoothed out the page.

_I know,_ the note spelled out. _Anytime, any place._ Finally: _And what one? ALL of em? ;D_


	18. The One with the Ninja Fail

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #18: _The One with the Ninja-Fail_

* * *

><p><em>It's late at night on a holiday weekend. People are lax and less likely to lock their homes up at night... the perfect time for you to strike. You slip in through a cracked window in the bedroom, unnoticed by the single male parked in front of a TV. You tiptoe about on silent feet as the man chows down his Chow Mei Fun, completely oblivious to the predator skulking around in the shadows of his apartment. You narrow your eyes, honing in on the kill. You pull off a crazy tuck-and-roll, just barely avoiding detection when the lone male (a very fine muscled specimen indeed) happens to turn your way to grab the remote. You roll your eyes as the man belches loudly, sleuthing towards his Lay-Z-Boy throne as your soon-to-be victim flips channels while scratching himself. Just as you're to pounce, he chuckles. You freeze just above his head, breath stilling and heart racing as...<em>

"Kurt, how many times do I have to tell you that you can_not_ sneak up on me?"

Kurt slumped out of his ninja-crouch with a whine. "But why not? Why are _you_ impervious to my epic, world-renowned talents in the martial arts when even Sylvester was no match for my swords and my skills?"

Puck leaned back to look up at Kurt with a smug little smile. "Because I'm your _husband_, duh. It's like a spidey-sense or something. Now stop pouting and sit down, babe." Puck patted his lap in an invitation. "You haven't been home for a weekend in _ages_, and I got some take-out and porn for the occasion."

"Hmm... college-boy porn and 'Asian' cuisine? Why, I think I sense a seduction taking place." Kurt smirked as he slid out of his all-black ensemble.

Puck leered right back, clicking his chopsticks at Kurt. "You sense correctly, young grasshopper. Now get your cute little ass outta your Spandex and cop a squat. The dumplings're getting cold and I don't wanna nuke this shit."

"Yes, Master," Kurt purred, foregoing the cardboard boxes in favor of planting a kiss on Puck's sesame seed-speckled lips.

(They wound up reheating the food after all.)


	19. The One with the Waiting

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #19: _The One with the Waiting_

(Written in response to _staringout_'s prompt #796: "I hate waiting.")

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><p>"I hate waiting."<p>

Kurt looked away from the deep opalescent purple-blue shell of an egg to frown in Puck's diection. "Puck, if you start complaining again, I swear I won't be held accountable for my actions."

"Your _actions_, huh?" Puck grinned at Kurt, flinging a bit of loose hay in his direction. Kurt grumbled when some managed to get tangled in his hair, his nose beginning to smoke. "Sorry baby, you're just too cute when you're all pissy and hormonal."

Flames were beginning to flicker out of Kurt's nose with his every exhale. "Hormo-_Puck_, I am the surrogate of your child, you _best_ respect."

Puck leaned over the egg-_their_ egg-to plant a light kiss to Kurt's pout away. "Sorry, babe. Like I said... too easy."

"That's what _I_ said about you," Kurt remarked. Puck made some token protests but he couldn't take the wide grin off his face for the life of him. Thanks to his mate, Puck was about to bring a new life into the world, a little he- or she-zilla. It was _exciting_ and the anticipation only made Puck antsy.

"You sure they're fine?" Puck asked of the little creature restlessly tossing and turning in its shelled fortress. Kurt didn't immediately reply, and when Puck glanced up he caught Kurt smiling at him with soft, kind eyes. "What?"

"Everything's going to be marvelous," Kurt announced, grasping Puck's hand and resting their intertwined claws right over the epicenter of all the ruckus. "Just be patient and you'll see."

"But I hate waiting!"

Kurt could only grin as the shell began to fracture beneath their hands. "You think I didn't realize that when you insisted on courting me days after we met?"

Puck would've retorted with something along the lines of a creepy irritating human whose name rhymed with Fartofsky or maybe a little quip about a certain slick-headed sprite, but he was too busy clenching Kurt's hand tight. Their little one was quick to come out of their shell and into their world, but his little fireball had been in his heart long before it had existed.

When their babe, a little boy whose hide was a faint purple (which would fade in time) had finally broken free of his confined with a powerful squeak-roar, Puck felt all the pieces of the puzzle come together.

"Well?" Kurt asked, proudly displaying their son for Puck's perusal. Puck, humbled at the sight of mate and son, crawled to the other side of their nest to spoon them from behind. His wings involuntarily erupted from his back to wrap around and protect his family. Kurt snuggled into his side and smiled at their son. "Was little Luke worth the wait, Papa?"

Puck ran a finger down Luke's snout, grinning as those amber reptilian eyes went cross-eyed. "More than worth it," he finally whispered. "Definitely."


	20. The One with the Other Pan

**30 Days of Puckurt; Alternate Universes  
><strong>DAY #20: _The One with the Other Pan_

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><p><em>In the heart of the Midwest, a newly motherless young boy was up past his bedtime. Tears swam in his eyes as he struggled to read from his mother's old book of fairy tales.<em>

"Psst!"

Kurt's head jerked up, eyes wide as he looked around his empty bedroom. A few tears slipped out of his eyes as he whimpered, "W-who's there?"

He heard a laugh, but it didn't sound like a scary clown. It didn't sound scary at all. The noise made him feel lighter.. it made him want to smile, but it was too soon. He couldn't feel happy, not when his mom was gone.

"Yo, kid!" The hissed voice sounded close, like it was coming from under- "Come help me look for my shadow!"

Kurt frowned, tossing aside his weathered copy of _Peter Pan_ in favor of leaning over his bed to peer underneath it. (He wasn't scared of the monsters under there. Everyone knew the meanest monsters hid in the_closet._)

"Hello?" he called. He yelped when something-no, _someone_ flew into him, sending the both of them tumbling on the floor.

"Whoa!" Kurt squinted his eyes open and found himself looking at a boy, a boy who couldn't have been older than he was. He wore weird clothes that looked more like leaves than like Kurt's Reptar pajamas and a feather was stuck behind his ear. His hair was cut weird, a single stripe of hair running down the middle of his head. "Hey."

"...Hello," Kurt muttered suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"Why, I'm Puck Pan!"

Kurt gasped. "Peter Pan?"

The boy scowled. "_No_. Didn't you hear me, I'm _Puck_ Pan. Peter's my brother." He paused before adding, "You can call me Puck."

"Why are you here? Can you take me to Neverland? Where's Tinkerbell?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Puck laughed. "One question at a time, Kurt."

Kurt frowned. "How do you know my name?"

Puck Pan smiled down at him, patting his cheek. "I know a lot of things about you, Kurt. So! I stopped by to grab my shadow?"

"Your... oh!" Kurt's eyes shifted over to his closed toy chest. "I thought it was Peter's, so I..."

Puck shrugged. "It's cool. I just want it back, if you don't mind." The bizarre Pan boy hopped-no, _flew_ up off of Kurt, offering him a helping hand.

Kurt eyed the hand and Puck for a moment. "I'll give it to you..." he said slowly, "But I want to go to Neverland."

Puck chuckled. "A bargainer, huh? Alright. You help me get my shadow back on and we'll be halfway to the second star to the right before you can say 'Tinkerbell's got cooties'."

Kurt grinned and let Puck Pan pull him up to his feet. "Cool!" He hugged the other boy in a fit of excited energy. The other boy's feet left the ground and Kurt gasped as he was lifted into the air. "You are the coolest boy I've ever met," Kurt whispered, his eyes meeting Puck's after staring at the floor below them for a long moment. "You should be my boyfriend."

"I don't know, I'm not supposed to make any commitments but..." Puck Pan grinned. "You seem badass enough to fend for yourself against those mermaids. Sure, why not?" Kurt grinned back. "Yay! Alright, let me get my emergency sewing kit out and we'll be on our way in no time."

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>Burt let Kurt's bedroom door close silently, a small smile on his tired expression. "You better bring my son back safe and sound now, you hear?" he warned to the softly glowing ball of light dancing in front of his face. "If you don't I'll whoop your asses, magical or not." The fairy jingled once, as if in frustration, sprinkling Burt with a face full of glitter as she flounced away.<p>Burt's quiet laughter lit up the house as Puck grasped Kurt's hand and flew them away.<p> 


End file.
